


Dual Existences

by bubblebucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:18:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebucky/pseuds/bubblebucky
Summary: It was 2012, he was twenty-four years old, and he was going to die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> While I COULD continue the things I've already started, why not start a whole new project? Haha. Nice.

"I gotta put her in the water," Steve said.

It was nineteen forty-four, he was twenty-four years old, and his best friend just died. Peggy cried and gasped on the other end of the radio like this was all one big surprise, like she'd believed Steve would be able to just walk out of the war.

Which was okay, because Steve lied to himself a lot, too.

And just like clockwork, she would say her line, because this was nineteen forty-four and Steve was going to die.

"Please," Peggy said, except her voice was wrong and she messed up the next part, too. "Cap, get out of there."

There was a flash of lucidity where it wasn't the rolling expanses of the Arctic tundra stretched out beneath him but instead the Atlantic Ocean and--were those buildings, to his left?

Steve shook his head and the scene was back, but he was off kilter. "If I wait any longer, a lot of people are going to die."

"Steve, just wait a second. Stark's on his way," Nat--Peggy said, her voice betraying concern. "He'll defuse the bomb."

Another flash, and he caught the last glimpse of the Statue of Liberty before his vision narrowed down to the churning ocean and miles and miles of unforgiving ice.

"Peggy," Steve made up his mind. "This is my choice."

"Oh, _shit_ ," There was a few moments of upheaval on the comm link--no, it's the plane's radio--and then, "Cap, _Jesus_ , you're not on that plane. It's--it's twenty-twelve, man."

Steve pushed down the controls, sending the plane into a dive. "I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."

"Cap!" It was Barton.

"Capsicle!" Peggy was doing it _wrong_.

"You got it." Steve said anyway.

The ocean--the ice--grew as the plane drew closer, and death loomed.

"Goddamnit! Stark, where are you?"

"Coming in," Howard said, but he didn't sound quite right. "I--" He hesitated. "I don't think I'm gonna make it in time."

"I still don't know how to dance."

"Steve!" Natasha yelled where Peggy should be saying  _I'll teach you_ , all steely and British and wet. "It's two-thousand twelve, you idiot! Don't crash that fucking plane!"

She was panicking. Her voice cracked as she practically screamed at him, and maybe the shock of it was enough to set him straight. There was no ice, just ocean and enough similarities for it to hardly matter.

"What?"

All of the Avengers currently on the com--namely, everyone but Bruce and Thor, who were back at the tower or in Asgard, respectively--had read Steve's file thoroughly enough to know that what Steve said was not his next line on his final conversation with Margaret "Peggy" Carter.

"Cap, pull up," Barton ordered, his voice strained with concern. "Pull up!"

"Peggy--" Steve was panicked as he blinked rapidly, and suddenly it was not nineteen forty-four, he was ninety-two years old, and he was going to die. "--Clint?"

There was a gasp of relief mixed with urgency, and Natasha spoke next, sounding like she was trying way too hard to regain her composure. "Steve, don't crash the plane. Tony'll take care of the bomb. Don't crash."

Steve looked away from the dark waves that crashed with increasing immediacy to look down at the control pad, and he remembered why he was flying the plane in the first place.

"The bomb is on a timer," Steve said, and was met with a few seconds of silence.

"How much time is left?" Tony asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Steve glanced down. "Twenty-two seconds."

More silence, and then, with a voice that belonged to Steve Rogers, twenty-four, he whispered, "I don't want to do this again."

There was fifteen seconds left.

"You don't have to," Natasha was close to begging him, now. "You don't have to. Just--jump. Steve, jump!"

Five.

"No, I--" Four. "--I can't! What good will that do?"

Three.

"Stark will grab you." Clint's sure words were betrayed by the choked sound coming from Tony's end.

Two.

Steve closed his eyes and met the water an instant before the bomb went off.

Drowning should've been a familiar thing by now, Steve figured, but the panic and tearing sensations as water filled his battered lungs didn't seem to be something Steve could get used to. It didn't matter, anyway. The force of the bomb exploding slammed him into the hull of the plane, and he faded into unconsciousness before his lungs gave in to the ocean forcing its way inside.

 

* * *

 

He woke up in a hospital.

He was twenty-four, and he just died. Except, he didn't. He crashed the plane, he knew that, he felt the bomb go off and--and the ice--did it--it stopped his heart--

" _Steve_ ," Natasha breathed when she realized he was awake, and he was pulled harshly into the present. Her red hair contrasted her pale skin violently, like a splash of red paint on a canvas. She looked so tired. "You're a moron."

At her voice, the others perked up. Clint unfolded himself from the chair positioned right by Steve's arm. Tony stood, looking guilty and apologetic, and Banner smiled at him softly. Relief was like a living thing in the room, seeping into everyone's pores.

"What year is it?" Steve asked, blinking in surprise at the sound of his own voice. The croak that he'd made caused his throat to burn, and in an instant all the other aches and pains from all over his body came rushing back to him. He hardly concealed a groan.

Bruce seemed to realize this. "It's twenty-twelve. You were out for three days," he said gently, then added, "We've got some tranquilizers that can put you to sleep if the pain is too much, Cap."

Steve shook his head, wincing as he did so, and sat up with Clint's assistance. "I'm fine. Is everyone else okay?"

Clint snorted. "No thanks to you, asshole. Your swan dive nearly gave Stark a heart attack," but his harsh words were undermined by the way he grabbed onto Steve's arm and held on like a lifeline.

"I did not! I knew for a fact that Spangles would be just fine. I built his armor to withstand more than some dirty bomb," Tony defended, adjusting the watch on his wrist to avoid eye contact. "And don't even pretend like you didn't think--" He cut himself off and swallowed.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Clint said with a scowl, his grip tightening on Steve, who clenched his teeth to keep from hissing in pain.

Natasha rolled her eyes at them and turned to Steve, eyes solemn and green and serious. "We were worried."

He had been, too.

He didn't say that. He said, "I'm sorry," with his face lowered.

She opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to say something more, but he knew that she wouldn't in front of the others. Natasha held his face for a fraction of a moment, then she pulled away, straightening up and taking a few steps back.

"You should get some rest."

Steve couldn't disagree. His chest ached fiercely, his head pounded, and the arm that Clint clung to was beginning to feel like it was going to fall off. But--

"Thank you," Steve said, voice still a bit hoarse but much improved from a few minutes ago. He looked to each of his friends in the room with a weak smile. "All of you, really."

Tony, in an uncharacteristic show of blatant fondness, patted Steve's foot and said, "You'll never have to go through that again. Not when we're around."

Steve smiled at him, and it felt a bit closer to genuine than before. He nodded at Bruce, who injected something into his IV, and immediately his eyelids grew heavy, his pains fading as sleep drew near.

Clint's hand on his arm was now more grounding than uncomfortable. "Get some sleep, Cap. We'll be here when you wake up."

Steve allowed his eyes to slide closed. It was two-thousand twelve, he was twenty-four years old, and he was alive. It was enough.


End file.
